She can’t possibly assume I’m that dumb? “Your coven will snatch you the moment you’re home. Not happening, princess. We’ll provide you what you need.”
She eyes my ripped jeans and shirtless chest with derision. It’s the bare minimum after a shift. Whereas her cloak swings to the side, revealing a black dress, my nickname for her becoming more appropriate.
“That’s twice now you’ve called me princess.”
“You look like one.” Damn if it’s the truth. She’s all long hair and a regal attitude that the primal, dominant side of me longs to break. “Youarea princess. The coven’s heir and all that.”
She rolls her eyes before flicking her cloak to cover her legs. “Covens aren’t monarchies. Mom’s a High Priestess, not a queen. Get your facts straight, dog.”
Not a princess then, but akamahki. In the Old Language, it roughly translates to ‘little priestess.’
She sniffs, not exactly doing herself any favours with the prim attitude that’s becoming amusing. “My name is Carina. Have some respect and use it.”
“Carina.” Every syllable is deliberate around my tongue. Mocking but also tasting it, becoming familiar.
Yesterday, Carina was the High Priestess’s daughter, whom I’ll hand over to the other coven. Today, she’s a woman. A witch. A sexy one that makes my body react in strange ways. She’s abeingwith an attitude about to make the next few days very…stimulating.
“Better.” She gives me a saccharine smile. “Did you know who I was this morning?”
“Think we’d be standing here if I had?”
Some of that defiant pink pales in her cheeks. “Why am I here?” She’s no longer blindly agreeing for her coven’s sake, reaffirming back there was a performance.
“Because.” I step away, intending to return to the others with instructions for the short trip home and not waste time on this conversation.
She trails me, her cloak disrupting the undergrowth as it drags over the ground. “That’s not a good enough answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
She follows me back to the others, which is fine. If she wants to see me shift, who am I to deny thekamahkia lesson in culture? Xander’s standing nearest to the edge, and a noise comes from his throat mere seconds before a small blue spark lands on the ground between my feet.
“The next one won’t miss. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
There won’t be a next one since that was her one and only chance.
I whirl back around, and for all her big words and show of magick, she falters. That fighting instinct wanes and she lowers her hands back to her side as she skitters away, realizing she’s one against a dozen animals. Still, her hands alight blue, like she isn’t sure whether to fight or defend. That lack of instinct will get her killed one day if she’s not careful.
I withdraw the vial gifted by Freya, hoping she was telling the truth about it. Carina tracks my movement and scurries backwards; space I delete almost immediately with long strides.
“Wh-what is that?”
Ignoring her, I grasp her face, thumb and forefinger pinching her cheek to force her lips open. She tries to pull away, but I’m stronger, and I yank the stopper off the vial with my teeth to tip down her throat. Her lips remain pinched open until a natural bodily instinct takes my side and she swallows.
Then I release her, watching and waiting with bated breath for the potion to take hold.
“What the fuck was that?” She swipes her mouth, and both her palms come up with the hope of using magick.
Nothing happens.
Huffing, she glares at her hands and jerks them in the air, but still, nothing. Realization draws on her expression, and she stares at the vial in my hand. “No…”
“Next time, behave.”
Giving her my back, I slip behind a tree to remove my jeans—not that the little priestess isn’t about to exposed to a lot within her time at the camp. Shifters aren’t witches; half our life is spent as an animal, and clothes aren’t always accessible.
Xander joins me behind the tree, turning human to talk. “Did you want one of us to carry her so you can focus on the trip? It’s not far but figured I’d check.”
If I run ahead, I can let Dad and the elders know how today has gone and get her a cabin where she’ll be tied up and guarded until the other coven returns. But the thought, theimage, of Carina’s legs bracketing another is instantly tainted with red—blood red. Blood that’ll be spilled if another touches her.
